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He chuckles.
The rideshare pulls up, the tires splashing through the puddles left from the rain this morning. I help Sam get settled into the back seat before sliding in after him. I close the door, confirm the address, and watch as the streets of downtown Seattle pass by through the window. There’s a surprising amount of traffic at this time of night, especially with the cold and damp temperatures. But I guess the state of Washington is used to this type of weather.
“When are you going to learn, Sam, that your actions have consequences?” I whisper the sentence to the side of his face.
He’s slumped down in his seat, his breaths even and deep, his eyelids closed.
Half an hour later, I wake him, and we manage to walk from the car to the hotel room with my small body sustaining part of his weight. I remove his key from his pocket, ignoring the comments he makes that are filled with innuendos but are only half intelligible by now. We move inside his room, my arm still around his waist, and the door slams shut behind us. Sam falls to the bed with his feet still on the ground.
I squat to remove his shoes one at a time, deciding not to struggle with the rest of his clothes. I tell him to move up so he can place his head on the pillow, and surprisingly, he listens. I can’t maneuver the comforter and sheets from beneath his heavy body, so I drape them over him from the other side of the bed.
I walk into the bathroom and find an empty glass. Filling it with water, I take it into the bedroom and instruct him to drink. He rouses enough to obey, emptying most of the glass, but when he looks at me, his expression is blank, like he can’t really see me. I refill the glass again, and by the time I’m back at the bedside, he’s snoring. I sigh and place it on the table next to him.
I find an extra blanket in the closet and take it to the couch across the room. Shimmying out of my sneakers, I curl up on the sofa and wrap my body in the wool. I type a text to Mads, letting her know I found him and that we’re back at the hotel, safe and sound. Then, I settle in for the rest of the night. I don’t feel right about leaving Sam alone here in this state, even though the last thing I want to do is stay in his room on this uncomfortable couch. But this scenario isn’t new to me. I’ve had countless nights just like this one, only substitute my sister for the hockey stud sleeping in the bed.
Eve hasn’t really changed in the time since she graduated college. She hasn’t matured. She drinks too often and too much. Her main hobby is still chasing men. She works to pay the bills but has rotated through countless jobs over the years and even more boyfriends. So many that I’ve lost count. But when she finds a man with money, she holds on to him for longer, until he grows tired of her antics.
When I moved to Chicago, I was excited to be in the same vicinity as her again. But the newness wore off quickly, replaced by the old, stale cycle of me picking her up and placing her on her feet again. Eve’s a handful. She’s a taker. She sucks you dry until you have nothing else to give. I’ve grown tired of the caretaker role, which is ironic since I’ve placed myself right back into one with Sam. But at least I’m getting paid this time. And there’s an expiration date on this one.
Sam groans and stirs, his head lolling to the right until he’s facing me. His eyes are still tightly shut as his breathing evens out again.
I take advantage of the moment to study his features. He looks so peaceful in sleep, unlike his normally tumultuous, brazen nature. There’s no doubt about it—Sam is an incredibly handsome man. His eyelashes are long and dark and kiss the tops of his cheeks. His jaw is square and strong, peppered with stubble from not shaving. His lips are full and puckered into a slight pout as he sleeps. That dirty-blond hair is mussed, like he’s been running his fingers through it. Or someone has. There’s a flush across his cheeks, likely a combination of the alcohol he drank and the cold weather outside. But it gives him a boyish appearance despite his masculine features.
It dawns on me that this man was never meant to blend. He was created to stand out. He does it naturally, stealing everyone’s attention wherever he goes.
Sam’s body jerks, and his features draw tight, like he’s suddenly dreaming. He lives inside his head, even throughout the night. It seems that even sleep can’t completely numb the things he wrestles with or dilute whatever poison is flowing through his veins. It makes me wonder what a man like him, an athlete with the world seemingly at his feet, could be struggling with. But nobody has a perfect life. Not even those who seem to.
Sam settles again. I watch him for minutes that drift into hours until my eyelids grow heavy. And at some point, I fall asleep.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SAM
The room is dark when my eyes open, the moon still lighting the night sky. It creates an ethereal glow where it enters through the patio doors across the room. I have no idea what time it is. And I’m not sure what woke me.
I sense movement right before the mattress dips beside me, and that’s when I see her. Emerson. Her chestnut hair falls across her shoulders in waves. Her golden eyes are staring down at me. I drag my gaze lower. She’s lost the sweatshirt, and she’s wearing a tank top now. It hugs her curves. She isn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples are pebbled and beading through the thin cotton material. Unexpected excitement stirs deep inside my gut.
“Hey,” I murmur, my voice thick and gravelly.
“Hi,” she whispers back.
Her eyes glimmer seductively in a way they never have before—at least toward me. Her gaze drops to my bare chest and doesn’t stop until it hits the sheets that are draped low across my hips. I’m not sure when I removed my clothes or if she took them off for me. But I like the way her attention warms my skin. She’s never looked at me like this. With a wild-eyed look. With want. And I wonder what changed between the club and now.
She glances away, like she’s battling with herself, while I just watch. She bites her bottom lip. And when her eyes meet mine again, it’s like a decision has been made. Her delicate hands fall to the hem of her tank defiantly. Slowly, she lifts until the material is pulled above her waist, over her breasts, and disappears overhead. It lands somewhere on the floor beside the bed.
My breath hitches as I stop to study her in the moonlight. Her expression is smoldering. Her lips are parted. A piece of hair drifts across her cheek. Her skin is pale and smooth. The line of her collarbone begs for my tongue. The swollen curve of her breasts culminate into perfectly symmetrical nipples …
I’ve been so busy resenting her; I’ve never acknowledged how beautiful Emerson is. My body is on fire as I look at her, and I’m instantly hard as a rock. I need to feel her skin, but when I reach out, she grabs my hand.
“You’re not supposed to touch me, remember?” There’s a taunting lilt to her tone.
That damn contract. Why in the hell would they hire an attractive woman to travel with me? And then say that I can look, but never touch. She’s forbidden fruit. She’s exquisite torture.
“Are you teasing me?” I ask gruffly.
My hand is still held hostage within her grasp.
“Yes,” she replies without hesitation, one corner of her mouth lifting.
